Last Friday as I left the office my favorite nerd asked me what I was doing over the weekend. “I’m cutting my hair off on Saturday and going to Pride Festival on Sunday.”
“Uh, why would you do that?”
“Do what? Drink wine coolers in public to support all things gay?”
“Not that, the hair part. You’re really cutting it off? I almost told you earlier how great it looked after our scooter ride. It really does flow nicely.”
“Thanks, but it’s fuzzy and I hate it so I’m cutting it off and giving it to the cancer kids.”
“Ohh, those poor little kids. Cancer is bad enough, why punish them with your hair?”
“What the hell? You just said how pretty it was. Can’t you see what a good thing I’m doing? I’m giving my beautiful, golden locks to kids who need hair.”
“Sarah, you just said you hated your hair!”
“Hated hair is better than no hair. Why do you ALWAYS have to ruin everything for me?”
As I made my dramatic exit I couldn’t help but wonder if I was, indeed, making a huge mistake. It’s silly, I know, but long hair makes me feel prettier and skinnier. Short hair, not so much. I ignored my fear and stuck with my plan.
My short hair has been surprisingly more work than before. Sure there’s less blow-drying time, but then I’m faced with trying to find clothes that match my new style. Boho country girl clothes don’t really work without the long waves. So for now I just wear jeans and wife-beaters.
Those cancer kids had better appreciate my hair, because when it grows back I’m keeping it.